Tortured
by France1832
Summary: Enjolras and Combeferre survive the barricades, but are arrested and tortured for information. Rated T for torture and blood/some gore.
1. Chapter 1

Enjolras sat in his cell with Combeferre, chains on their wrists and ankles preventing them from moving much. It was dark and the little light that entered the room brought no comfort, only torture from the memory of the outside world. Enjolras knew what was to come, and he was not afraid for himself, but he was afraid for his dearest friend. The medical student did not like pain. He didn't like to cause pain, and he didn't like to endure it. He believed the in cause, but he had wanted it to come naturally.

"Enjolras," Combeferre said quietly from Enjolras' left. Enjolras looked at him. "Are you afraid?"

"No. I will gladly take whatever punishments they give me. I will gladly suffer and die for France and for the oppressed." Enjolras replied quietly, but his voice was filled with passion. Combeferre sighed and shook his head, smiling a sad smile.

"Yes. I know you will."

There was silence.

"You are afraid though, I see a slight flicker of fear in your eyes." Combeferre realized after a while.

"I am afraid for you, mon ami." Enjolras explained after a pause.

"I know." His friend said. "But you shouldn't be. Do not fear for me more than you fear for yourself." And a tear streamed down Combeferre's cheek. It was obvious that these two friends, these brothers, were only worried about the other. They loved each other and were close enough that they seemed to be one, as if they were married, but without the romance.

Combeferre was the gentler side of Enjolras and balanced him out, preventing him from acting rashly when his passion carried him away. Grantaire was Enjolras' opposite, but Combeferre was Enjolras' balance. It is much easier to accept a balance than an opposite.

Enjolras reached out towards Combeferre as far as he could and Combeferre reciprocated his action. Their fingers just barely touching. It was a terrible thing to separate these two brothers, and being so close to each other, but not close enough to bring comfort was painful. Combeferre wept bitterly, but Enjolras did not shed a single tear. Combeferre understood why.

"You ought to rest." Enjolras said gently and clumsily stroked Combeferre's outstretched fingers. His friend nodded and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

Enjolras watched until his friend's breath had become steady and he knew that Combeferre was asleep. He was exhausted, but could not sleep with so many thoughts going through his mind. So he stayed awake.

Someone grabbed Enjolras and forced him to his feet, unchaning him from the wall roughly.

"Come with us, rebel!" He sneered and forced Enjolras' arms behind his back.

"Enjolras!" Combeferre cried. The loud clanking of the chains and the gruff voice had awoken him. Enjolras looked at Combeferre and offered a small reassuring smile, then he allowed himself to be lead from the room. The men took him down a hallway and into a small room. The laid him onto a table and tied him there. Enjolras did not struggle, although he knew what was coming.

"Are you the leader of the traitors?" The man asked. Enjolras stiffened. He was no traitor, he was a patriot. He loved his country dearly, she was his only love.

"No." He responded. "I am the leader of the abaisse!" A sharp pain entered his arm and he felt a warm sticky liquid trail down it. He stiffened and did not cry out.

"What were you trying to accomplish?" The man demanded. The man was big and strong.

"I wanted to free the people from tyranny and from oppression! I wanted to free them from rule of man!" Enjolras replied passionately. This time, the knife slid down his theigh and he gasped a little in surprise and a slight protest escaped his mouth.

"Who were your contacts?"

Enjolras did not utter a word. A large hand slapped him hard across the face.

"Who were your contacts?" The man asked again. Enjolras still did not answer. A stick hit Enjolras hard against his lower ribs and a loud crack echoed through the room. Enjolras finally cried out and panted as the pain increased. It wouldn't stop, the pain wouldn't stop. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep from crying out again.

"Who were your contacts, scum?" The man demanded. When Enjolras did not answer, the man moved his hand towards the broken ribs. Enjolras flinched a little, but did not speak. The man pressed down and Enjolras gritted his teeth and thrashed a little. Sweat gathered on his forehead and he began to feel cold. He felt his mind panicking, searching for the answer the man wanted if only to make the pain stop. He shook his head. He would not give them what they wanted.

"What are their names?!" The man screamed and slowly dug the knife into Enjolras's stomach. Slowly sliding it along. Enjolras heard a far away sound, a sound like those made at the barricade. His mind went back and he could see his friends. He heard the last cry of Jean Prouvaire and heard the deafening blast of a cannon. He felt the blood of others splatter against him and heard their dying pleas. But he knew this was not where the noise was from. The pain in his throat told him it was his own cry of agony, his own voice begging for the pain to stop. He felt as if two halves of him were fighting against the other. One was begging for the pain to end and willing to say anything, the other was determined and would not fold. He wondered which would win.

"What are their names?" The man's voice was a little calmer now. Enjolras was still panting and trying to recover from earlier.

"I...will not tell you." Enjolras said determinedly and stared coldly at the man. A blinding pain shot through him and his mind could not longer think. All he could focus on was the pain, the immense pain that filled his eyes and ear. All he could hear was the pain, all he could feel was the pain, all he could taste and smell was the pain. How did they expect him to speak when he couldn't even think?

After what must have been hours, the pain stopped and the man leaned forward so that his nose was nearly touching the revolutionary's.

"What are their names?" He whispered. Enjolras took a shaky breath, knowing the pain was going to return, and probably worse than before.

"Who's names?" He asked quietly.

"Get in there rat!" The man yelled as he threw Enjolras into the cell. Enjolras landed against the stone wall hard and the breath was knocked from his lunges. His hands were chained again as well as his ankles. He couldn't focus, the pain was overwhelming.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre's far away voice asked cautiously. Enjolras struggled to find his way back from the blurry world his mind was in. He heard the door slam and curled in on himself instinctively.

"Mon ami, what have they done to you?" Combeferre asked quietly as another tear streamed down his cheek. Enjolras had a red mark across his face and his eye on his left side was puffy. He had obviously been hit hard, probably with a hand. He was bleeding on his arm and leg and his breathing seemed labored. He winced every so often - mostly when he breathed in - as if being alive hurt. Combeferre guessed a couple of his ribs had been broken. Combeferre reached out to try and touch his younger friend, to comfort him in some way. He wished he could remove the pain. His heart ached for Enjolras.

Enjolras finally looked up at Combeferre and took a breath. "Do not fret 'Ferre, i can bear it." He reached out his own hand and gently touched Combeferre's. Combeferre smiled a little and tried to be strong. It wasn't fair to ask Enjolras to comfort him when he himself was in pain.

"They tortured you. What did they want?" Combeferre asked quietly and caressed Enjolras's fingers with his own.

"They wanted to know who helped us, but I will never tell." Enjolras replied, the strength in his voice returning. Combeferre nodded solemnly.

"When will they kill us?" Combeferre asked after a pause.

"Once they have received all their answers."

"Our friends are fortunate to have died in the battle." Combeferre spoke again and turned his head away from Enjolras. Enjolras knew Combeferre was afraid for both of them, and he did understand.

"If they kill us publicly, it will be a victory for us. We will be remembered better than those who fell at the barricade." Enjolras argued gently. He was even more exhausted than he had earlier. What time was it? Was it night time or day? It was so difficult to tell!

"Enjolras…" Combeferre trailed off and shook his head. He didn't want his friend to be upset with him, especially not now.

"I understand." Enjolras said and gripped Combeferre fingers gently. Combeferre was surprised and turned to look at Enjolras again. He saw compassion as well as determination in the blond's eyes. So his friend understood. He knew that Combeferre did not want to die in this way. He understood that dying as a martyr here did not appeal to him as if did to Enjolras. There was something else in the blond's eyes though. He looked exhausted.

"Enjolras, rest." Combeferre whispered and wished he could touch his friend's golden locks. Enjolras leaned as far as he could towards Combeferre, and Combeferre did the same, leaning towards Enjolras. His fingers were just barely able to stroke his beautiful friend's curls and Enjolras let himself relax slightly. His brilliant blue eyes fluttered shut and his mild allowed him rest at last. Enjolras' thoughts drifted to the future he had always imagined. He dreamt of it and how beautiful his country would be when his people were finally free. The children would play happily in the streets, all would have the opportunity to be educated, none would go hungry, and there would be no king or emperor. There would be a much better system of government, one that would ensure freedom and equality for all. One that would not place one man above another.

Combeferre watched his friend dream and smiled as he saw how content this beautiful angel looked. Now that he was not in battle, he looked so charming like any other twenty year old man. But Enjolras was not any other twenty year old man, he was an angel of justice, he wanted nothing more than to bring equality to all the world. He was so pure and innocent, except for the blood on his hands from the barricade, but that blood had to be spilt, and Combeferre was sure it would be forgiven.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Enjolras woke to a gruff voice near by. As he opened his eyes, he spotted Combeferre. His friend was being taken by a couple guards, likely to experience similar punishments to Enjolras from the previous day. At least, Enjolras assumed it had been the previous day. It was difficult to tell.

"Combeferre," Enjolras said, his voice steady. Combeferre nodded to Enjolras.

"Enjolras, mon ami!" he said just before the door was closed behind him, leaving Enjolras completely alone in the darkness. Enjolras only then realized how much pain he was in, but he chose to ignore it as much as possible. He was still tired, but he didn't want to be asleep when Combeferre returned, so he forced his eyes to stay open and contemplated things.

The people had not risen, but Enjolras was not as angry as one might expect. He knew the people were afraid, and he knew that they would be brave enough to rise eventually. Perhaps this revolution would inspire the next. perhaps his fallen comrades would be remembered somehow. He thought of Courfeyrac and his joyous laughter even in the heat of battle. How his friend had mocked the National Guard and their cannon even though they all knew they would perish.

Enjolras remembered how Grantaire had screamed, "Enjolras, look out!" and had shoved him out of the way only to get hit with a bullet himself. He had gone to the drunkard's side and heard the last words spoken: "I believe in you." He hadn't known what to think.

Enjolras rolled up the leg of his pants and examined his wound. It didn't look very good. Joly could have given him a much better diagnosis than that, but it didn't matter. Enjolras knew he was going to die soon anyway. His thoughts on death were not as dark as most who find themselves in a similar situation. He hoped that his death would be public so that the people would see him stand for them until the end. Yes, it was true that he wished to be remembered, but he also wished for the people to have all they deserved and that was the focus. His desire to be remembered paled greatly in contrast to his wish for real justice.

His mind drifted again to the battle and he saw Courfeyrac holding off the National Guard with Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Combeferre.

"You would think the kings men would be better shots!" Courfeyrac joked and grinned as he shot down another man. His laugher was broken by a wizzing sound. The bullet found it's target and the centers had fallen - both the man and the barricade. Combeferre was the only one of the four still standing.

Enjolras couldn't remember the details of the battle, only snippets. He wasn't sure how he and Combeferre came to be the only survivors, but they were. Come to think of it, Enjolras could not recall seeing Marius shot down, but surely he was also dead.

As Enjolras sat pondering these thoughts, the door opened and Combeferre was returned to the cell. Enjolras looked up at his friend and was surprised by how little blood there was on him. Combeferre was chained to the wall and the guards closed the door, leaving the two in dark silence.

"You hardly look injured." Enjolras commented, but there were questions behind these words.

"I gave them names." Combeferre confessed. At Enjolras's stare, Combeferre smiled a little. "I never said they were the correct ones."

"What names did you give?" Enjolras inquired after a pause.

"Names from books. It will take them a while to figure it out I would imagine." Combeferre's eyes fell to Enjolras' leg and the latter could see that there was guilt in Combeferre's eyes.

"It is not your hard that did this, so do not blame yourself." Enjolras chided gently and rolled his pant leg back down to hide the injury. Combeferre nodded and looked away.

"What will your parents think if they find out?" Combeferre asked quietly.

"They will likely be alarmed." Enjolras replied coolly as if he couldn't have care less. This wasn't entirely true. He did care what his parents thought of him, he loved them if only for the fact they were the people who had brought him into the world, but he was not especially close to either of them.

Combeferre nodded thoughtfully and Enjolras knew he was wondering the same thing about his own parents.

"Feuilly will be remembered by no one once we are dead." Combeferre realized. Enjolras looked down. Feuilly was an orphan and was not wealthy, but despite the hard life he had, he wanted to help others. He had done all the good he could during his short life time, and Enjolras greatly admired the workman. Feuilly had even taught himself to read and write, something Enjolras wished everyone could do. Feuilly had been an example of what the poor should strive for. The wealthy could try to equalize everything as much as they wanted, but until the poor man was willing to rise above the dark filth of the street, it would do little good. Enjolras wished the man would be remembered. He had been so kind and loving to everyone.

"Perhaps he will be remembered one day. I saw a man behind a pillar at the barricade. He appeared to be a writer. Perhaps he will record our story." Enjolras suggested. It was true, and even if it never happened, if he could brig some comfort to his friend, it would be worth it.

"Yes, I think I saw him as well." Combeferre agreed and smiled a little.

"Have you slept enough?" Enjolras asked kindly.

"No, I am still tired." Combeferre admitted.

"Then follow your own advise to me and sleep." Enjolras said. Combeferre smiled again and laid down on the cold ground.

"Alright." He consented. Enjolras also laid down and shivered against the cool damp floor. If Joly had been there, he likely would have been terrified of aquiring some sort of dreaded disease. Enjolras smiled sadly at that thought. He truly did miss his friends. He had no regrets regarding the revolution, but that did not stop him from missing them.

Enjolras dreamt of the Musain cafe with his friends seated around him. They laughed and argued, drank and played. Grantaire sauntered over to him and leaned against the table, his drunken legs finding it difficult to keep him from toppling over.

" 'jolras!" He greeted warmly, his breath smelling of alcohol.

"What is it?" Dream Enjolras demanded coldly. He was busy writing a speech and was not in the mood to be interrupted.

"They're coming!" Grantaire said, his voice now sounding panicked.

Enjolras bolted upright as pain shot through him again. He moaned loudly. A boot had connected with his broken ribs.

"Here's your meal, traitors!" The guard said and walked away. Enjolras looked at the bowl in front of him. It looked vile. He rarely had an appitite at the best of times. He knew he had to eat though, and he probably was hungry. He hadn't eaten in at least three days. He took the bowl into his hands, just as a rat had scurried towards it. Enjolras took a bite of the food and nearly threw up. It was worse than it looked if that was even possible. Enjolras glanced at Combeferre who seemed to be struggling with his own dish.

"Eat it, you'll need to." Combeferre reasoned. Enjolras knew he was right, so he swallowed what was already in his mouth and took another bite. The rat seemed disappointed to have missed out on an easy meal, but it didn't give up so easily. It scrambled up Enjolras and rested on his shoulder. Enjolras slapped the rat and it went scurrying away noisily.

Enjolras was more thirsty than hungry. He saw a bucket with a little water and a ladle. He brought up the ladle and put it to his lips. The water smelt like the streets of Paris and Enjolras scowled. It was terrible the way they treeted prisoners. He opened his mouth anyway and poured the liquid inside. It tasted nearly as foul as it smelt, but Enjolras swallowed it anyway. He would need to stay alive until they decided to kill him. He gently pushed the bucket over to Combeferre. Combeferre smelt the water and made a face, but also drank it.

"I think they gave us the wrong bucket." Combeferre attempted to joke. Enjolras gave him a curtesy smile, but they both knew it wasn't funny.

Shortly thereafter, Enjolras' stomach decided he wasn't suited to prison life and threw up the dirty food and water. Combeferre looked sympathetically at his friend, but could offer him little comfort. He pushed the bucket towards him and Enjolras gratefully splashed a bit of water on his face to clean it. Then he poured a bit of the liquid into his mouth and spat it out, successfully rinsing his mouth of the vile taste, but leaving one almost as unpleasant.

"You'll get used to it eventually." Combeferre said. It wasn't exactly comforting, it was just a statement of fact. Enjolras nodded and shuddered as the smell of vomit filled his nose. Enjolras had a strong stomach for blood, but not for gross food. Combeferre had a much better tolerance due to his being a medical student.

"Joly would hate it here." Enjolras said.

"Yes, he would." Combeferre agreed sadly. "And Jehan would sit here as we are and think up morbid poems to consol himself." He added.

"Courfeyrac would remain cheerful even after all of this. He would joke and tease." Enjolras nodded.

"Bossuet would cheerily complain that it was just his luck." Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.

"Feuilly would be horrified that anyone had to experience this and go off about how Poland greets it's citizens much better."

"Grantaire would be angry at the lack of wine, but would be completely miserable."

"Bahorel would try and fight the guards even with his hands bound."

Silence fell again over the room as the two friends remembered the fallen. It was bittersweet, and they wanted to savor the moment.

"That rat is enjoying the rest of my bowl." Enjolras commented as he watched the foul creature eating greedily.

"Prison rats are well fed." Combeferre added morbidly. The guards returned at that moment, making the rats scurry back to their dark wholes in the walls. The bowls were removed, as was the water. Nobody bothered to clean the mess Enjolras had left on the floor and Enjolras guessed they would have to endure the smell for quite a bit longer.

"What would you have done with your life if we had won, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked.

"I would have continued to serve the people. Perhaps I would have become like Lamarque." Enjolras replied quickly, but thoughtfully. Combeferre nodded.

"I would have become a doctor and gotten married." He looked at the blond. "Would you have gotten married?"

"No. My only love is Patria, and I feel a family would interfere. I would have to worry myself about them and my focus would be torn." Enjolras explained quietly.

"But they could bring so much joy." Combeferre argued kindly.

"I have no desire for it, so I do not believe it would bring me joy, Combeferre." Enjolras countered.

"A perhaps you are right." Combeferre grudgingly agreed.

"Who would you have married?" Enjolras inquired after a short pause.

"I had no one in mind," Combeferre replied, blushing slightly. "I would have liked to marry though, if I had found the right woman."

"Hmm." Enjolras said and turned to the door.

A few days passed much the same and neither or them were taken in for questioning. They sat the entire time in their cell, talking, eating, and sleeping. Combeferre was beginning to get stubble on his neck and jaw line, but Enjolras was still practically clean shaven. Combeferre gently teased Enjolras about it to try and lighten the mood. Enjolras hadn't reacted hardly at all.

The next morning, Enjolras awoke to a large hand yanking him up.

"Your friend lied!" He practically screamed in Enjolras' ear. "Do you have so little honor as to lie to us?" Enjolras was yanked out of the cell and into the same torture room he had entered days ago. He was again placed on the table and tied there, and again he did not struggle.

"What are their names?!" The man demanded angrily.

"I will not reveal their names to you no matter the cost." Enjolras replied calmly and felt pain in his arm again. Blood flowed down and made Enjolras cold.

"Tell them to me." The man said, imitating Enjolras' calm tone, but sounding rediculous as he did so.

"No!" Enjolras said defiantly. The man pressed against his broken ribs once again and Enjolras cried out again. The same rutine, the same pain, and again Enjolras did not share any names. His mind was again trying to shield him from the immense pain. His mind wrapped a blanket of illusions around him and it reminded him of Combeferre's warm embrace.

"Very well, this one will not break. Bring the other in."

Enjolras could barely hear the words, but the part of his mind that could still understand was afraid. Not for himself, but for Combeferre. Would they hurt Combeferre? Or perhaps they would continue to hurt Enjolras and ask Combeferre to reveal the names. Enjolras hated these men. They were the true rats, the real scum of the street.

The door opened and Enjolras assumed Combeferre was shoved inside. He heard a far away cry that sounded vaguely like his friend's voice screaming his name and sobbing.

"Combeferre." Enjolras tried to say calmly. He wasn't even sure if the word got out of his mouth. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning in the pain he could no longer feel. He couldn't hear or feel anymore until he felt his body stiffen and heard a cry. He couldn't tell if it was his own or Combeferre's. Enjolras silently begged his friend not to cave. He knew how much Combeferre loved him, but if Combeferre gave up the names, everything would be ruined.

Eventually the pain stopped, but Enjolras wasn't sure why. He was taken back to his cell, but his mind was still not able to focus on anything. He heard his name being called from far away, but he couldn't get to it yet. The blanket over him stayed for a while, but Enjolras couldn't have said how long. Finally he was able to be free of it and he heard sobbing from beside him. He turned his head and saw Combeferre.

" 'Ferre," Enjolras said softly. His friend looked up and smiled slightly, tears still streaming down his face.

"Enjolras!" He reached out to touch Enjolras and Enjolras reached out to touch him. Their fingers met again and they took comfort - however small it was - in each other's presence and touch.

"What happened?" Enjolras asked weakly. He was still in pain, but his mind wouldn't let him recall any of the events from when the blanket had covered him.

"I didn't tell them any names. They..." He bit his lip and looked down. "They're going to execute us soon. They found out that neither of us will cave, no matter the consequences, so they have no further use for us."

Enjolras nodded as calmly as if he had just heard Combeferre talk about a book he had read.

"You never cease to amaze me with your calmness, mon ami." Combeferre said breathlessly. It was clear he was not looking forward to their execution.

"We knew from the start it was coming, and there are worse things than death."

"Yes, that is true. What is death? How is it so different from life?" Combeferre wondered out loud.

"We will find out shortly." Enjolras replied and smiled slightly. Combeferre couldn't help but laugh a little at this. It was true, he would soon receive the answer to one of the questions that bothered him most. It was ironic that you had to die in order to learn what death was.

"I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you one more time." Combeferre whispered sadly.

"As do I." Enjolras whispered back. He wanted to feel the reassurance of Combeferre's warm body pressed close to his own, their arms wrapped around each other. He gripped Combeferre's fingers the best he could and looked into his best friend's eyes. He realized there was no word to express the way they felt about each other. There was no word to describe their special relationship. They had something rare between them, a bond that could never be broken.

"We will be with each other after we die, and then we can embrace each other as we would like to know." Enjolras promised. He shivered as the cold damp floor started to effect him more. It still stank terribly in their small cell, but Enjolras had gotten used to it by now, as had Combeferre.

"You had better be right." Combeferre nodded and caressed Enjolras' fingers.

"We shall be with them again also." Enjolras added, thinking of the friends who had already left them.

"And Jean Prouvaire will have written a beautiful verse in our honor no doubt,"

"In all of our honor." Enjolras agreed and smiled slightly.

They fell asleep together that night, as close as they could in the difficult positions they had been chained in. The next morning they were allowed their rest, and for a few days, they were left alone. Finally, on the fourth day, they were woken up and prepared for execution. They were to be guillotined as was customary for political prisoners. Before they were lead from the room, Combeferre threw his arms around Enjolras' neck and pulled him close. Enjolras returned the embrace and they whispered words of love and comfort to each other. They were lead to the block with their heads held high, looking proud and defiant.

"Vive la république!" Enjolras shouted and then knelt and welcomed death. Combeferre was torn between honoring his friend by watching, or turning away. Then it was his turn, and he faced death just as bravely, but with less fire. He knelt as well and soon the world went black.

Enjolras stood and looked around. Arms quickly embraced him.

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac's voice cried happily. Jean Prouvaire was right beside him.

"We missed you so much!" The poet said and also threw his arms around Eniolras. The others also stood around Enjolras, talking and embracing him, but in a moment, Enjolras turned away from them all and smiled at Combeferre. They embraced each other warmly.

"Well done, mon ami."


End file.
